To Build a Family
by darthsydious
Summary: prompt fill for kelseyrare on tumblr a happy victorian!lock mythea fic! Mycroft and Anthea's marriage was arranged. While she loves him, he is uncertain he possesses the ability to love her. He is certain that he can make her happy regardless though. Sherlolly and Warstan if you squint.
Mycroft disliked waiting. He disliked being forced out of his own bed, out of his own bedroom while the maids and doctor were allowed to come and go as they pleased! Worst of all, most definitely the absolute worst of it all, was that there was nothing he could do.

Of course, he had been the one to put them in this predicament. But even that he could not say that the blame rested squarely on his shoulders. Though he was, most definitely, _mostly_ to blame.

Mycroft and Anthea had settled into their arranged marriage fairly well, accepted it as their duty and went along with it accordingly. The match was a fine one, his family's great name, money and most especially his position with the Royal Family, coupled with her own great name and family's money. Everyone said it was a brilliant pairing, the stuff to make a perfectly splendid marriage. Neither Mycroft nor Anthea believed that happiness sprouted from social standings, there were plenty of fine matches that turned out dreadfully wretched. Mycroft was certain he did not want to be like the scads of other gentlemen who did their duties to their wives and then went off to a brothel for their own recreation. He dreaded being saddled in an unhappy marriage, but knowing that he must be the one to have a fine match in the family, proceeded with the engagement.

His first visit to Lady Anthea Whittaker seemed to change his mind. It was not her family's vast wealth and power that had made the difference. He was aware of her standing in society. It was the fact that she knew her own mind so well. Anthea was no society darling for nothing. She played the part well, but there was a marvelously quick-witted and brilliant mind simmering under all the sweet manners and name cards and fine clothes. She was clever as she was beautiful, and it did not take long for them to separate themselves from the group to speak privately on just what they expected from their impending match.

It took an afternoon at tea with Anthea for Mycroft to be certain that the match would be a success, even if love was not between them. That afternoon they spoke frankly and openly of just what _would_ be between them, for neither were eager to enter a marriage blindly with nothing straightened out. They made promises neither took lightly, and in the end, both parted that evening satisfied in what they hoped would be a successful marriage. The engagement was a short one, as their parents were in a hurry to have heirs.

Anthea performed her wifely duties without complaint, and Mycroft soon became aware that his wife was putting aside her own feelings for him, so that he would not be uncomfortable around her. He was surprised, and for a time did not know what to think. He was shocked that she would have any sort of affection for him. As time passed, however, he came to realize how deeply her love for him ran, and he found himself touched by this. Anthea was quietly resigned to be in a one-sided relationship, glad to have any bit of him he would bequeath her. He did not know if he was capable of loving anyone, but he wanted very much for Anthea to be happy, so he vowed to give her, if not his own love (for he would not believe himself ever to be the romantic sort), then the love of their children. Children, he was fairly certain he could give her.

Mycroft was more than a little proud to say it did not take long for Anthea to be in the family way. The day she told him she was expecting was a merry one. There she was, all aglow with her good news, and there he sat in a bit of a storm cloud over some incident involving the royal family. And then suddenly there she was, perching herself on his knee, pulling the papers out of his hands and twining her arms around his neck. So pleased was she, so thrilled at the prospect, that he had not the heart to turn her away. Her news was received happily, indeed Mycroft was genuinely happy that she was expecting. Eagerly, she looked forward to the arrival of their first child. He found he too, was looking forward to the idea of children. Mycroft could not help but boast that it would be a son. He could not help but _wish_ for one, someone who could carry on in his footsteps, for Anthea to dote on and for Sherlock to be an uncle to. He liked the idea very much of having a son, and perhaps he should not have mentioned it so often. Anthea never made any qualms about having a son or a daughter, she certainly couldn't promise one way or the other!

Her pregnancy had been a revelation to the both of them, and Mycroft took keen delight in keeping her as comfortable as possible. He still doubted his heart, and he did not dare trust himself, but he wanted to be certain that she would be happy with their children. In that respect, at least, he was certain he could make her happy. She hated her confinement, especially as the doctor wanted her cooped upstairs in her room. Mycroft took his meals upstairs with her once she had to stay upstairs. He merely shrugged at her surprise, stating that it was a waste, having footmen and the butler all waiting on one person when a tray between the two of them would do very well. In truth, he did not want to miss even a moment.

The night she went into labor he had only just climbed into bed when she sat up, chin wobbling, horrified and humiliated that she had made water _in their bed_. She was embarrassed, and was certain he would leave in a disgusted huff.

"You _do_ have a whole tiny person pressing constantly on your bladder," Mycroft said to her, climbing back out from the sheets. He pulled back the covers to reveal the stain, then looked up with a start as Anthea leaned back against the pillows with a low groan. This was no accident, and Mycroft went dashing from the room, yanking the pull on the wall, nearly forgetting to snatch his dressing gown.

Suddenly he was flustered, rushing to and fro while the servants ran about with purpose. He decided to sit and wait with Anthea, and she latched onto his hand, keening through a contraction, begging him to stay with her through the birth. He promised he would, as if he would dare leave her in this state!

Unfortunately, it was a short-lived promise. Doctor Watson (who was very fortunately staying the weekend) booted him out.

"I can't have a nervous father-to-be hovering over my shoulder while I work," Watson said, having rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands. "I must insist on this, you're in no state. Leave your wife in my hands, sir, I promise she will be well taken care of."

Mary Watson, who was Doctor Watson's wife and nurse, was suddenly gently nudging Mycroft out of the room and into the hallway, instructing him to find a glass of whisky or port, and if he needed a job, to fetch the housekeeper for linens, warm water and soap and a soft blanket.

Mycroft did these things, and then, having sent three consecutive wires to his brother (who was currently on honeymoon), sat down in the hallway outside the bedroom door.

Hours crept by, maids came in and out of the room, Watson's steady voice coaxing Anthea. The crying was the worst part. Mycroft knew the mechanics of birth, but he had not thought to prepare himself for the pain it would cause Anthea. He paced the hallway blindly, looking at the clock each time as he passed it.

Around dawn a telegram came, a reply from Sherlock. He and his new wife, Molly, would be arriving by eight that morning. They had apparently cut short their honeymoon at Molly's insistence and had taken the first train straight away from Paris. They would be in Sussex shortly now, so that at last gave Mycroft something to do. He went to see that a room was prepared, and that breakfast would be ready and waiting for them when they arrived.

Mycroft trudged up the stairs, returning from the kitchen to deliver orders to the cook when he stopped suddenly.

 _Quiet_.

The house had rung with Anthea's cries for so long that the silence was almost unsettling. His stomach lurched. _What if something was wrong?_

The door to the bedroom opened, and Mycroft took the remaining steps two at a time, hurrying down the hall to see Watson standing in the doorway, looking for him.

"Well? Is she alright? How is my son?" Mycroft demanded.

Watson smiled tiredly. "You may go in, Lord Holmes, see to your wife."

He did not say 'and child'. Mycroft's heart was thudding in his chest. Anthea would be heartbroken. The child was lost. This would break her. He had failed the one thing he had sworn to give her.

With heavy steps, he went into the bedroom, the maids and Mary Watson quietly scuttled out past him, shutting the door.

"Mycroft," Anthea's voice was tired.

He lifted his weary eyes and opened his mouth, about to apologize to her, but she beat him to it:

"I'm sorry, Mycroft," she said, positively glowing in the morning light that poured through the windows.

He blinked.

In her arms she held a bundle, a bundle that had tiny fingers that grasped the edge of the blanket. It gurgled in her arms.

Alive! The baby was alive!

He breathed a sigh of relief, finding his eyes were misty.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, still smiling at him. "It isn't a son; we have a daughter." Her smile was so wide, her eyes were shining up at him, and suddenly Mycroft realized she had wanted a daughter all this time. Anthea had wished for a daughter, and for nine whole months listened as he'd prattled on about having a son! Now she waited for him to react, most likely expecting him to shrug and say that there would be a next time.

Mycroft climbed up onto the bed beside her, putting an arm about her shoulder. "The devil with sons," he murmured, leaning over to peer at their newborn. "Whoever said I wanted a son when there are daughters to be had?"

Anthea beamed up at him, and carefully, she handed the baby over to him. He stiffened up straight away, quite sure he would drop her, but Anthea helped him, showing him how to support her head and cradle the body.

Settled in his arms, their daughter gurgled, yawning. Her tiny fingers curled and uncurled, and Mycroft could not help but be in awe. Besotted immediately, Mycroft Holmes looked at the baby in his arms and could not imagine anything more perfect. Such a tiny, rosy little thing!

"You're not upset?" Anthea asked softly.

Mycroft turned and looked at her steadily, eyes shining. "Good heavens, my dear, you should know by now you shan't ever disappoint me." He dipped his head and kissed her gently then. "I am quite proud of you, in fact, and this little miss as well."

Anthea sniffed, smiling through her tears. "We only thought of names if it was a boy," she said.

"So we did," he nodded. He looked at his wife then, knowing just what she was thinking. "Have you a name in mind, my dear?"

She blushed prettily, and nodded. "I thought Victoria."

"Then Victoria she shall be," he said, and smiled at their daughter cradled in his arms. "Miss Victoria Louise-" he looked to Anthea, inviting her to pitch in any more names she could think of.

"Victoria Louise Helena Holmes," Anthea said with a pleasant smile and Mycroft nodded in agreement.

Victoria began to fuss, so Anthea took her back, and Mycroft watched, again awe-struck, as she began to feed her. Of course he was aware babies must be nursed. He did not think he would ever see such a thing, nor that it could be so beautiful. He could not help himself.

"I love you," he blurted out.

Anthea looked up at him, but not at all surprised, as he had expected her to be. Her smile was tired, happy, warm. "Yes I know," she laughed gently. Reaching up with her free hand, she stroked his cheek, thumbing away the errant tear that had run down his face. "I am glad you finally came to that realization; I didn't know how much longer I'd be able to keep such a secret."

"You knew all this time?" he asked, incredulous. "I didn't even know myself!"

"You wouldn't let yourself believe it," she shrugged.

"I do now, and heaven help us if Sherlock ever hears me nattering on like a bad romance novel."

Anthea smiled, kissing him. "Perish the thought. Though I suspect he is just the same with his wife," she laughed. "Your secret is safe with me."

They sat quietly then, happy in the peace that had settled over the room. In a little while, Sherlock and Molly would arrive to welcome the newest addition to the Holmes family. For now, though, Mycroft was pleased to sit with his beloved wife and newborn daughter, reveling in the joy of parenthood, of the realization that there was no finer woman for him than Anthea, and that he could make her happy.


End file.
